


Stop the World, I Want to Ask for Directions

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Directionless [6]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Directedverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-26
Updated: 2008-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson wants House. He's not sure what House wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop the World, I Want to Ask for Directions

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a universe created by [](http://helenish.livejournal.com/profile)[**helenish**](http://helenish.livejournal.com/). Thanks to my betas.

That first night, House ordered him to strip the minute he stepped into their living room--and later, he remembered the orders, remembered lying on House's bed straining not to move as House stroked him with his fingertips, but he especially remembered that moment when he was suddenly terrifyingly naked, and petrified that he'd just made a terrible mistake and was about to ruin everything.

House stepped close, still fully clothed, slid his hand up James' neck into his hair. James closed his eyes and just felt--the dryness on his tongue, the rush of cool air in the room, House's fingers slender and forceful against his scalp. A sudden flush of warmth as House took another step closer.

"I already know your safeword," House said softly. "Any other hard limits I should know about?"

James looked up, and House was staring at him, quiet and controlled and waiting. "No blood," James said. House quirked his eyebrows after a moment and James shook his head. "That's... all I can think of."

And soon there wasn't time to think, just the amazing rush of _letting go_ and putting every sensation he was feeling into House's hands. But afterward, trying to adjust back to the feeling of someone sleeping beside him, he thought of another one: _Don't make me believe that screwing this up is the easy way out._

* * *

"You look happy," Chase said the next day at lunch.

Wilson frowned at him. "And you look like hell. I thought you guys wrapping a case was usually a good thing."

Chase shrugged, but his grip on his tray went suddenly tense. "Yeah, just had a bit of a fight with my top... nothing, really."

Wilson followed him to a free two-person table, throat tightening. "This isn't about us--"

"Nah, it's nothing, like I said." Chase grinned ruthlessly. "'Sides, that hasn't come up yet."

Wilson picked at his salad and thought briefly about giving Chase some unsolicited relationship advice. After due consideration, he decided against it.

* * *

"You don't get to come," House said, "until you say the magic word."

James craned his neck a bit to look up. House had strapped his hands to the headboard with his tie, and it was hard to see down to where House was touching him with lube-slick fingers. "Please?" he said quickly.

"Wrong magic word," House said, and slipped a finger into James' ass.

"Oh, fuck," James said.

"Wrong again," House said. "Care to guess a third time?"

"Ah--shit--dammit, can't I please--"

"You're not getting any warmer," House said.

"Uh... Rumplestiltzkin?"

House snorted.

"Dammit--open sesame. Rapunzel let down your fucking hair. I--ah!"

"Nope." House slid his hand up James' prick, to the head, and rubbed the tight ring of his fingers right around--ah!--right around the frenum and James had to stop talking and concentrate on not coming, not disappointing him.

When House pulled his hand away, James whimpered, "Please?"

"Keep guessing," House said.

* * *

"Gold," he guessed later, after an unsatisfying shower, curled up next to House in the dark.

"Mmmmmno."

"Silver," he said, then "Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium--"

He made it to oxygen before House cut him off. "Wrong idea."

"Okay... orgasm."

House snorted. "Nothing that obvious."

"Contraction, reaction..." he hesitated, then asked, "It isn't my safeword, is it?"

"No, it's not." House rolled onto his side, away from Wilson, staying off his leg. "Get some sleep."

The next morning he did the dishes. "Animal, vegetable, or mineral?" he asked.

"That would be telling. And no, in case you wondered."

"Fellatio."

"No. And offering won't get you off, either." House smirked and leaned against the counter. "Why don't you do this naked tomorrow?

James' fingers reflexively spasmed against contrasting impulses of _God that's hot_ and _Can't think about sex_. "God dammit."

"That's still not the magic word--and that wasn't a yes." House's cane thwapped him across the ass and James hissed in a breath.

"_Yes_, whatever you want," he said, "and what if I want to jerk off at work?"

House looked slightly wounded. "Oh, well, I can't tell you what to do at _work_," he said. Then he smiled. "But I will ask you about it when you get home."

James took a deep breath and went back to scrubbing.

After work, James determined by elimination that the magic word wasn't a) a sexual act, b) a type of sex toy, or c) a marsupial. He threw monotremes on the 'nix' pile for good measure.

"Semen?" he asked hopefully.

"Go to sleep," House ordered.

* * *

"I'm dying, here," James said the next morning.

"Oh, no!" House said, feigning concern. "You'd better start guessing really fast, then."

James gritted his teeth and reminded himself that nobody had ever actually been confirmed dead of blue balls.

He did the dishes naked. Plants were off the list. When he started listing brands of chocolate, House asked if that was a hint.

"I'd rather have an orgasm."

"Weakling."

None of James' previous tops had ever had the willpower to enforce this kind of chastity for more than a night. Of course, neither arguing or puppy-dog eyes worked with House, who was perfectly content to sit there eating pancakes with his hands and licking syrup off his fingers while James stood at the sink and tried not to spontaneously combust.

"It's really still not please?" he finally asked.

House raised his eyebrows. "You'd better get dressed or you're going to be late."

* * *

James carefully skirted certain abstract nouns. He wasn't about to try "love" or "commitment".

At work they played innocent. House called him over for consults on cancer-related problems, and Wilson made annoyed faces whenever the conversation turned to sex. He also endured House's commentary on his own patients, which he never sought out and endeavored to keep as far away from the patients in question as possible.

"Assuming that everyone is going to lie to you is your problem, not mine," he snapped at one point, only to hesitate when House's expression changed. "What?"

House tilted his head back to eye Wilson speculatively. "Hold that thought."

It took him a moment, but then he felt a jolt of shock and relief--swiftly tainted by the copper-salt taste of confusion in the back of his throat. "Wait--what, 'lie' is--"

House raised his eyebrows sharply, and Wilson closed his mouth, and after a moment he nodded. Back to work mode.

And when they got home, House had him slammed against the door with his hand on James' dick within a second. James' vision was swimming, but he could see House was sweating, grinning, manic.

"What's the magic word?"

James swallowed harsh air, whispered, "Lie."

"Yeah," House said. "All right, come, _now_\--"

Like a heart attack, too severe to breathe, just weak-kneed relief when it was over. James wasn't even sure if the feeling was pleasure.

* * *

Chase had obviously ordered salad so he had something to stab. "I just don't know what she's doing," he complained. "It's like she's giving me enough rope to hang myself."

"Would you be happier if she kept score on every annoying thing you did?" Wilson asked.

Chase snorted. "I'd probably leave her chained to the bed with her own manacles."

Wilson toyed with the straw in his diet coke and watched the locks on Chase's wrists twitch as he picked up his fork again.

* * *

She was blonde, giggly, and her name was Bethany, and she was tied to the bed when James walked in.

"Where..." he asked House in a shocked undertone.

"Craigslist," House answered. "I want to watch you top her."

James turned away from where Bethany was wriggling on the sheets and stared blankly in House's direction. "Do you not remember that utter failure of an experiment I--"

"Is that a no?" House cut him off.

Jame's teeth clicked closed reflexively.

After a moment, he went and sat down on the bed next to the other sub. "Er, hi," he said.

"Hi," she said, and giggled again.

She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he noticed, and looked to be about twenty-five. This was getting sketchier by the minute. "Have you ever done something like this before?"

She shrugged, "Yeah, something like. You?"

"Um." He thought about the incredibly awkward night he'd spent trying to pin Chase to the bed. "Not... successfully."

House snorted.

James glanced back at him, hesitantly turned back to Bethany when he got no reassurance. "So, um..."

"Get on with it," House said. "I didn't set this up to be bored into coming."

James swallowed and reached up to undo his tie.

His instinct was to strip--if he was naked and House was clothed it would almost be like this was _normal_\--but he stopped himself after the tie and reached for Bethany's pants instead. She lifted her hips to help him wriggle the fabric off, and in no time she was halfway naked. James was dimly aware that he was breathing harder, but it felt more like fear than lust.

"You okay?" he asked her when he'd pulled her socks off.

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Um." He swallowed. "Do you have anything you'd like me to--"

"Oh for God's sake," House said. "Show a little initiative." James turned to stare at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Or if you're not--"

House bent down to the toy locker, straightened a second later with a cane in his hand--a rattan thing actually useful for _caning_, gleaming dully with an aura of military discipline. House whipped it through the air once, then met Bethany's eyes. "Green?"

"Green," she answered, eyes wide.

House smirked, then held out the cane in James' direction.

At first he just stared. "I--what?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

He tried inhaling, found something blocking his throat. "I can't."

House frowned, disappointed. "Can't? It doesn't take an MD to know how to hit someone."

"I _can't!_"

House stepped over to the bed and tapped Bethany on the ankle. "You, legs up," he ordered. As she obligingly threw her feet toward her wrists, House handed James the cane and said, "Give her ten. Or I'm giving _you_ twenty."

The cane was still warm with the imprint of House's fingers. For some reason that helped as he held it up to look at it.

He was not--he was a _doctor_ and knew better to just start using a cane on bare skin. So he ran his hand down Bethany's legs, wincing in shame as his fingers skimmed past her cleft, though she didn't do more than inhale and flex her toes against the headboard. She was very flexible. He landed an open-palmed slap on her ass, another, until her skin was flushed. When he looked up to check her expression she was biting her lip but smiling.

James swallowed and raised the cane.

The first stroke sounded improbably loud hitting flesh; Bethany inhaled sharply but didn't yelp. James had to nerve himself again before continuing, which meant he got to watch the narrow red welt develop before he brought the cane down a second time.

Thankfully the stripes were easy to count, because his sense of time started blurring out after four.

When he hit ten he dropped the cane on the bed, and then House was standing behind him, grabbing his wrist and pushing him forward. At House's insistence he ran his fingers over to Bethany's clitoris, and she gasped and pushed her hips forward, and he was finally able to look at her again when she moaned in climax.

And before he could focus on _that_, House jerked his pants off, and then he was face-down on the bed and getting fucked, deep and rough, and the shock dropped him straight past thinking, to where he couldn't more than react and feel, fuck, scrape of beard stubble on his neck hard cock fucking him and he was sorry he was sorry it was _not his fault_ and _fuck_\--

After coming he was vaguely aware of being moved further up onto the bed, of House moving around and Bethany being untied. "Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," House said. "You want a shower, fare for a cab?"

"I've got a bus pass, and Mistress likes it when I come back sweaty. But thanks." She paused. "That was _hot_."

"Glad you approve."

And some time later, House lay down next to him, and held him while he tried to remember to breathe.

* * *

Chase was much happier the next day.

"You and Alexis hash some things out?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah," Chase said, and then grinned wickedly. "And y'know, it's good to have days when you remember it's fun to be a sub."

Wilson suddenly had to grit his teeth against remembering House on him, House fucking him, House taking what he wanted from him without asking. "Yeah," he agreed weakly, after a second. "It has its moments."

* * *

After dinner on Friday, House told him to leave the dishes and wait in the bedroom. James swallowed and nodded, went and sat on the bed, watching the doorway.

House came in a few minutes later and nodded. "Okay, get your clothes off."

James complied, wondering where House was going with this tonight. It was with some relief that he saw House pull out a few skeins of rope. Bondage was good. Even with House's no doubt twisted spin on things, at least the night would start relatively normally.

"Sit against the headboard," House ordered when he was naked.

Sitting up wasn't too weird. With House's leg it was kind of unwieldy, but not too weird. House tied his arm snug, checked his circulation. "That feel all right?"

"Just fine," James answered.

House was meditative and thorough on his arms and his chest. There was no way he was slouching. As a finishing touch, House stretched his legs across the bed, tying his ankles spread-eagled outward.

"So," House said, sitting down and rubbing James' right thigh, just above the knee. James swallowed and wished he'd had time to shave that morning. "How do you feel?"

"I'm good," he said tentatively.

Actually, he was starting to get worried--there was always a frisson of fear that came with being unable to move, and House was very good at his knots. But that was what trust was for.

Trust that was tempered by the anxiety about the last few games House had been playing.

House nodded, leaned forward and ran his fingertips over James' collarbone and down the crease of his pecs. James hissed at the lightning prick of nerves as House ran his thumb over his right nipple.

When House concentrated on something, he really concentrated--and so by the time he was done both of James' nipples were aching and slick with saliva, and he was throbbing hard without House ever moving his hands below his waist. He sighed with relief and disappointment when House pulled away.

He tensed when House reached into the toy locker and came up with a pair of clamps on a chain.

"I--" he started to say, but House ignored him and closed the clamps on his nipples both at once. Sharp! "--Ah!" he gasped, as the shock dulled into a tight pressure.

House tapped his chin until he looked up, into House's eyes. Like a sparrow hypnotized by a snake. "Do you think you can take it?" House asked.

And compared with House's voice, it was really only a little pain. "Yes."

"Good," House said, then grabbed the chain and yanked.

Pain exploded--and it--fucking!--hurt too much to yell as the clamps snapped free. Aftershock twinges throbbed in concentric circles around the tender nubs of flesh. James took deep, shuddering breaths as House dropped the chain on the bed and reached out to stroke his dick. James gasped and his hips twitched involuntarily.

"That can't have been _too_ bad," House said, fingers curling around James' shaft.

"Oh fuck," James said.

"You don't like it?"

"I--" he swallowed. "I'm not actually fond... of pain..."

"But you'll take what I give you?"

There was only one answer to that question. Weakly, he whispered, "Yes."

House narrowed his eyes, then leaned down to fish around in the toy locker again. When he straightened up, James stopped breathing. He was holding a scalpel.

It was in a sterile bag, but--House raised his eyebrows, and James couldn't move, couldn't do anything more than stare, and so he shrugged and started unwrapping it. And--he hadn't said anything, except right at the beginning, he'd said _no blood_, but--

House moved the blade left and then right, like he was tracking James' eyes, but James could only look into House's eyes, thinking, _Fuck, you aren't--he's not really--_

He was so hard it was painful. Fuck.

House seemed to give up on watching his expression, and put his hand back on James' thigh. James watched as he brought the scalpel down, cold and glittering in the light, felt a stinging coldness as it touched his skin, then the slow growing burn as it sliced--

"Infarction," he croaked.

House's head snapped up and he pulled the scalpel away. For a moment, they stared at each other, House's expression completely blank.

Then House was grabbing the safety shears from the bedside, and in another moment James' arms and ankles were free. He pulled his knees up to his chest, shivering. The cut on his leg had already stopped bleeding.

House pushed the rope away, then gently rested his hand on the back of James' neck. He was shaking. "I'll take the couch," he said.

And then he was pulling away, and then he was gone. Wilson stared at the empty doorway until exhaustion made him curl up on the mattress, aching.

Fuck.

* * *

When he woke up, House was gone.

There wasn't enough Ben and Jerry's in the world for the gaping hole in his chest, and there certainly wasn't enough in House's freezer. James stood letting the cold air from the empty freezer waft over him, and wondered if he wanted to go to the store and buy some. Leaving would raise the problem of coming back. Of if House wanted him to come back.

Fuck--what the fuck was he thinking? Why hadn't he just--what did House want? Why had he just left? Was he that upset?

While he was still deciding, his phone rang.

It wasn't House, which was the first thing his brain registered. It took the space of another ring to recognize the letters that spelled out Chase's name.

He flipped the phone open and hoped his voice was steady. "Hello?"

"Hey," Chase said. He didn't sound all that much better, honestly. "I don't want to... D'you wanna get together for coffee or something?"

"I could use a drink," James said without thinking. Then he thought about it and realized yes, yes he could.

"It's... two in the afternoon," Chase said.

James took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said. "It's that kind of day."

There was a pause on the line. "Yeah, fair enough," Chase said after a second. "You still at House's? There's this dive a few blocks away."

So he wound up across the table from Chase staring down into a rum and coke at two-thirty in the afternoon. Chase was drinking beer and munching on french fries with an expression of determined self-distraction.

James took a deep breath. "Have you--"

"Y'ever--" Chase started to ask at the same time, then stopped.

James waved him on.

Chase nodded. "Y'ever run into a co-worker at a club?"

"Um." It took him a few seconds to remember the last time he'd _been_ to a club. It wasn't like House had been interested. "Not really... I mean, Julie wasn't the clubbing type, you know? And I don't really... get out all that much."

Chase sighed and nodded. James frowned, finally looking at him and realizing he was really upset. "What happened?"

"Oh..." Chase shook his head. "Nothing, I mean, we just ran into Foreman, and... fuck if I know. It was weird, Alexis was angry..."

"She didn't like him?" James was surprised by that. People tended to like Foreman.

"I dunno. Maybe she didn't want me talking to him. Maybe she thought I was hitting on his sub." Chase rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested, by the way."

"Right."

"I mean, from what I hear she's into kinkier shit than I am."

James raised an eyebrow.

Chase caught his look, looked heavenward briefly in frustration. "I'm serious."

"Okay, fine." It really wasn't a point he felt like debating.

"It's just going to be fucking awkward on Monday."

"There are worse things than fucking awkward," James said before he could stop himself.

Chase frowned at him. "You sound like shit," he said after a moment. "What happened?"

James looked down at his drink. The ice had half-melted. He pushed the remaining floating chips around with his straw. "Have you ever had to safeword out on a top?"

Chase didn't say anything. When James looked up he was staring, shocked. James nodded and picked up his drink.

"Fuck," Chase finally said. "I haven't--I mean, look, I remember the time I was topping and got--but that was ages ago. I mean, unless you're doing hardcore scenes..."

"No," James said, tongue filmy with alcohol.

"Shit." Chase shook his head. "No, I haven't. I usually just holler. Work things out in advance. That sort of thing."

James swallowed. "I just don't know what I did wrong."

Chase leaned over and grabbed his wrist. "It's not your fault," he said. "Trust me, I've seen the other side of that. It's the top's job to not push you that hard."

"It was House."

That was the alcohol. House had said--specifically said he couldn't tell Chase. But he'd already screwed that up, so what was one more break?

Chase's fingers slackened in shock. "I... didn't know you two were..."

James nodded. "We were keeping it quiet."

Chase pulled his hand back. Propped his chin on his hands. "Fuck. I can see how that would get... fuck."

"Yeah."

Chase looked over at him sharply. "D'you need a place to stay tonight?"

There was a sudden sinking feeling in his chest. Thinking about moving out--about dealing with House again. About postponing that as long as possible.

"Yes," he said. "Thanks."

* * *

Chase's apartment was pretty sterile in general, but it came equipped with a freezer full of ice cream, and a DVD player full of brainless entertainment. Chase threw on a of French action movie, which seemed to be mainly about a couple of gorgeous tops doing ridiculous stuntwork, and stuck the case of wine coolers James bought on the way in the fridge to cool.

Distraction. That was the key. A heaping bowl of chocolate ice cream helped, as stereotypical as that was.

"No, I just can't--" Chase was arguing on his phone. "No, nothing like that. Something just came up."

Chase finished his conversation and vaulted over the couch as one of the tops on screen handcuffed the other to a railing. "Alexis," he explained. "It's taken care of."

James licked his spoon clean and pointed at the screen with it. "Do you think Leito wants to switch for Damien here?"

Chase snorted. "Oh yeah. Look at his body language. He's totally into it."

Given the amount of bristling the character was doing, James doubted that particular analysis, but let it slide. Chase seemed to take that as free license to comment on the appealing attributes of every character in the movie, top or sub. It was somewhat interesting, and kept him from thinking about House.

Mostly.

The credits rolled. Chase turned off the TV, then turned to look in James' direction. "D'you wanna talk about it?"

James's throat closed up and he shook his head.

"Y'know," and Chase's voice sounded pinched, "I propositioned House, once? When I was just starting out?"

"I heard about that."

"Figured he'd tell you." Chase snorted. "He pegged me for a switch within a week."

"First day," James corrected him. "I didn't believe him."

"Yeah, well." Chase shook his head. "I knew it was stupid. He told me no fucking way."

"He turned me down at first, too," James said. He took a breath past the sticking thing in his throat. "Maybe he knew I couldn't take it..."

Chase scooted closer on the couch, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. And it was stupid, he was fifteen years older than Chase was, but he just folded, curled up like a teenager and let Chase rest his chin on top of his head.

It was, awful as it felt, more than he'd earned from House.

* * *

When he woke up on Sunday, he was tempted to throw the covers over his head and pretend that the world didn't exist. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't stay in Chase's apartment--for one thing, all his stuff was still over at House's.

And it looked like he wouldn't be able to stay there now, either.

Chase's foodstuffs were apparently limited to frozen dinners and cold cereal. James helped himself to the latter as Chase stumbled out into the kitchen. "Need the shower?"

James thought about showing up to House's place in his current state. "Yes. Please."

"Go right ahead." Chase waved vaguely. "There's plenty of hair stuff."

Plenty of hair stuff was an understatement--if he just had the rack of shampoo to judge from, James would have never believed that Chase had been raised a top. He picked the least ridiculous product he could and tried to focus on feeling clean.

Back in his clothes he felt a little better. He took a deep breath and tried to convince himself he was ready to face House.

Hell, he was just trying to convince himself he knew what he wanted from that confrontation. _'Sorry to have disappointed you.' 'Oh, that's all right. I knew it wouldn't work out, but I wanted to give you a chance.' 'Well, then, I'll just get a hotel room.' 'Right. Call me after your next marriage goes to hell.'_

He rubbed his eyes and gritted his teeth for a few minutes. Then he splashed cold water on his face from the sink, patted his face dry on a towel. Considered stealing some of Chase's makeup when he saw what his eyes looked like. Decided against it, since no matter how bad he felt he wasn't actually fifteen.

When he came out Chase was leaning on the back of the sofa, his hands awkwardly in his pockets. "Hey, if you need anything," Chase said, "Just call, all right?"

"Thanks," James said.

Chase smiled, then sighed and stepped forward, grabbing James in a hug before he could move. "Fucking hell," he muttered. "I--look, if it doesn't work out, you can always--I'm here, okay?"

That--when he finally got it--was a little shocking. "I didn't realize," he said.

Chase laughed. "Yeah. Well." He stepped back, and he was blushing. "Nevermind if--but, y'know. Thought I should say something."

James took a breath. It was flattering, all right, but--shit, his life was complicated enough. Though for one moment it was tempting, to just take that honest offer. It hurt that he was getting more affection from an emotionally unstable switch who wanted to cheat on his top than he had... well, fuck.

He reached out and touched Chase's shoulder, briefly. "Thanks."

Chase looked away and smiled again. "Yeah, right. Good luck."

* * *

James didn't know what kind of reception to expect when he got to House's place. Part of him hoped House wouldn't be there. That he could just get his stuff together and run.

House opened the door on his third knock, and they stared at each other for a second. "Come on in," House finally said.

"I thought... I didn't know what you wanted," James said.

House took a breath, looked down at his feet for a moment before looking James in the eye again. "I want to talk to you."

"Oh." James swallowed. "Well, uh... okay."

"Come on in," House said again, and stepped back from the door.

The living room felt different. Colder, somehow. James sat down on the couch and watched House pace in front of the TV.

"I think... you were right," he finally said when House didn't say anything. House stopped pacing and squinted at him. "I mean, about.. you not wanting a relationship with a sub. And me not being able to--I mean, I just couldn't... be what you wanted."

House's eyebrows furrowed. James nearly held his breath. Finally, House said, "Why does nobody just listen to what I say the first time?"

James blinked. "What?"

House sighed and sat down on the other side of the couch. He tapped his cane on the floor, then said, "The last time I was in a serious relationship with a sub was... eesh, years before I met you. He was inoffensive. Nice guy."

James didn't know what to do, so he nodded.

"He was probably everything anyone would want in a sub," House continued. "Flexible, eager to please. And he'd do anything."

"You're saying--"

"I'm saying," House said, "I like to push people." When James didn't say anything, he continued, "And he never stopped me."

_He never stopped me._ "You... he got hurt? Or.. permanently?"

House looked over at him, mildly disapproving. "I was still a doctor. I didn't do anything physically damaging." He sighed. "Therapy bills are probably still piling up, though."

James took a deep breath. There was a chill, somewhere. Maybe a draft. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I needed to know if you knew your limits," House said, standing again and going back to pacing. "I had to know you'd stop me."

James stared at him. "You're saying you needed me to be responsible to make up for your inability to deal with people like a human being?"

House stopped pacing, gave him a look like he'd finally grasped the sky was blue. "Yeah."

Oh. "Oh." He swallowed. "Why couldn't you just tell me?"

House made an exasperated noise. "Because you never _intend_ to let the person you're fucking push you into a nervous breakdown. It just happens."

"Makes... sense."

The air was heavy with tension, like static electricity, just waiting for him to brush against a ground. House finally looked up and said, "In case it's not obvious, I'm really bad at asking people to stick around."

"Right," James said. "Well, that seems fair, actually."

For once, he got House to stare dumbly at him. He continued, "I mean, I already knew you were messed up. And it looks like my next best bet is to go be another of Chase's unbroken streak of failures."

House smirked. "I told him I'd break his kneecaps if he made a pass at you."

"Well, you also told me not to tell him that we're sleeping together," he said.

"Yeah." House frowned, eyes darting over the room. "About that."

James watched in dull shock as House fished a flat box out of the papers and debris on the end table and handed it over. "You..."

"Go on, open it," House said, sitting next to him. "This is supposed to be romantic."

"You should be playing Palladio if you want a blowjob," he countered, but his hands were still shaking as he opened the box.

It was a practical collar--practical he expected, coming from House. A simple clasp, D-ring at the front. But it was made from golden leather so soft it felt like silk under his fingers, and it almost glowed in the dim light as he picked it up.

A tiny nameplate next to the clasp read "Gregory House," and underneath, "James Wilson."

"How long have you had this?" he asked softly.

House cleared his throat. "I went and got it yesterday." When James looked up in surprise he said, "See, it would have been really embarrassing if you'd walked out."

James laughed, held it up to his neck. House reached over and buckled it closed, fingers brushing the skin of his throat. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to stand taking this off for work," James said.

House shook his head. "You won't need to."

James hesitated, then turned to face him. "I thought..."

"Yeah, well." House shrugged. "Changed my mind."

James was still staring when House hooked a finger through the ring on his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. And the pressure on his neck and the feel of lips on his finally clicked in his mind--he was _someone's_ again; he was _Greg's_, and it was all going to be okay.

"Greg--" he said when he pulled away to breathe.

"Yeah," House said, pulling him close again. "I do too."


End file.
